Typical Summer Afternoon
by Nerd Alert
Summary: It's hot today. Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and a few others are out, just hanging and wondering what to do. As usual, it's pretty difficult to get anything much done. Bunny, Style, Creek oneshot


Typical Summer Afternoon

Summary: It's hot today. Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and a few others are out, just hanging and wondering what to do. As usual, it's pretty difficult to get anything much done.  
Rating: Teen  
Genre: Romance/General  
Pairings: Bunny, Style, Creek

Author's Notes: Wow. My debut fan fiction. That's kinda cool, I guess.

Anyway, I really have no idea where I'm going with this whole thing. I'm pretty much just putting down whatever I feel like, and hoping that it's good.

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It's a swelteringly hot day in South Park. Every inhabitant of the little mountain town is sweating, cursing the unfortunate day they ever decided they'd like to live in such a crappy little hell-hole. The adults are sweating at work. The elderly are sweating at nursing homes. The children are sweating at home, playing out the last weeks of vacation. Babies are sweating in their cribs. Dogs are sweating in their houses. Birds are sweating in their nests. Mister Hankey, the Christmas Poo, is sweating along with the rest of his fecal family in the sewers. Even Damien, the son of Satan himself, is sweating, although he's decided that it's not so bad, considering he's sweating in the company of Pip -- but that particular story is one I shall not delve into at the moment, because honestly, who cares about that crazy emo kid and the queer little French kid anyway? They're so _lame._

It's somewhat odd for it to be so hot in South Park, where three of four seasons seem to consist only of snow. For reasons unknown, the year can easily be described as follows: Cold, _Hell_, Chilly, Freezing. In that order, no less. Anyway, it happens that our story falls with a group of boys, all suffering through the "Hell" season, and all too filled with pent-up energy to simply stay home and bask in the coolness of air conditioning.

Stan Marsh, fifteen, loiters casually just outside the small convenience store. Or rather, he would be loitering casually, if not for the fact that his skin is sticky with sweat, his raven black hair matted against his forehead as he groans for what he knows must be about the eightieth time that day. _Coming out on such a hot day,_ he decides, _was a crap idea._ The sun is beating down upon his skin like a whip, and he grimaces as he realizes that he'll probably have a sunburn by tomorrow. He doesn't really regret relinquishing his shirt though, because he knows it was all for a good cause -- namely, Kyle Broflovski.

Kyle is sitting boredly on the ground next to Stan's shins, neck stretched back so he can stare up at, well, nothing. This summer, he's discarded his usual green ushanka, and lets his rusty red hair do whatever it feels like. It is no longer the chaotic afro it once was in his youth, and seems to have opted for the crisp, tight curl instead. Sometimes, Kyle wonders if his hair has decided it wants him to be a businessman of some sort, or perhaps a lawyer like his father. Then again, he also sometimes wonders if cheese actually tastes yellow. He and Stan have had a dispute over that matter since the age of ten. Kyle maintains stubbornly that, contrary to popular opinion, cheese tastes heliotrope.

Pointless rambling aside... He picks idly at a loose thread on the shirt Stan loaned him, and resists the urge to simply tug on it and see what happens. Instead, he lets go of the thread and watches the fabric of the shirt settle over his tight denim jeans. It goes into an odd, ripple formation. _Interesting,_ he thinks faintly. The heat is making his brain sluggish, he then realizes with a heavy sigh, and he lets his eyes slide shut, wondering when the hell Craig (_What's his last name, anyway?_ Kyle asks himself) and Kenny McCormick are going to get out of the stupid store so they can all get on with their lives.

Stan seems to be thinking the same thing, or maybe he just senses what Kyle's thinking, because he shouts into the wide-open door of the shop, "Dudes, you've been in there for like, ever! When the hell are you gonna be done?"

There is silence, followed by Kenny's open laughter, and Kyle knows that Craig has just flipped them off from wherever he is.

"Fags," Kyle calls lazily, not even bothering to smirk at the irony -- or the truth -- in his accusation.

"Butt pirates," Kenny shouts back at the same time Craig shouts, "Ass rammers." The maturity they all possess is truly overwhelming.

Tweek Tweak has been relatively silent up until now -- 'relatively' meaning that everyone else has tuned out his random mutterings, which he probably isn't aware of anyway. After years of being acquainted with the boy, his soft, panicked murmurs of, "Oh Jesus, they're gonna come and kidnap me and devour me whole as a sick human sacrifice!" or, "Oh God, not the underpants gnomes! Nngh!" sort of just fade into the background, until they're little more than a soft hum.

The blond seems to be vibrating on the spot, and he shakes even more pronouncedly as he cautiously enters the store. "C-Cr-Craig," he calls out shakily, "c-can we go yet?! Th-the sun... it's gonna melt me, o-or --" His right eye twitches, and he flails a bit, screaming something about, "Oh Jesus Christ, not the Crab People!" as Craig appears from nowhere, wrapping his arms around the blond's waist. Tweek relaxes as some meaningless words are murmured soothingly into his ear, and leans into his boyfriend's touch, murmuring something that sounds like, "See, I'm melting."

Kenny shoots a grin at Craig, and mouths the words, "Craig gon' get some _sweet lovin'_ tonight," with a finishing eyebrow quirk. Craig flips him off, and leads Tweek over to the counter by his wrist, holding a bottle of Coca-Cola and a bottle of Starbucks mocha frappucino. It's almost depressingly obvious whose drink the frappucino is, and whose drink the Coke is, and when they step outside, Kyle quirks an eyebrow.

"You sure it's a good idea to give him that caffeine, Craig?" he asks, playing with the dark fabric of Stan's shirt.

Craig is unable to answer, as Tweek is smothering him with gratitude for buying him coffee, because he hasn't had any since this morning, and God, how could anyone be expected to go so many hours without coffee, it was pure torture, and there was _way_ too much pressure to deal with when you were so thirsty, and will he protect him from the gnomes tonight, please, because Tweek will definitely try to make it worth Craig's while if he'll guard his underpants, assuming they stay within his line of vision, but then again, with Craig around, that never really seems to happen, but will he stick around anyway?

As the 'drama' unfolds, Kenny exits the store holding a large can of Monster and a vanilla-flavored ice cream sandwich, shoving a new black lighter and a pack of Parliament cigarettes into his jeans pocket. He grins sheepishly as both Kyle and Stan look at him questioningly. "Didn't you used to buy Marlboro's, Kenny?" Kyle wonders, the joints in his knees popping as he stands.

"Well, yeah," Kenny answers, opening his Monster, "but the wife's been nagging me lately on being healthier."

"K-Kenny, don't call me your wife," Leopold 'Butters' Stotch calls from the curb, sounding exasperated, as though he's said this a million times. (Knowing Kenny, he probably has.) He stands up, lightly brushing dirt from the bottom of his straight-cut jeans. He turns, and smiles brightly at the sight of his oh-so-incredible 'special person.' "Didja get me my ice cream sandwich?"

Kenny nods, and tosses the package to his boyfriend, who stumbles forward to catch it. He does, and heaves a sigh of relief before straightening back up to peel open the wrapper. "Sorry, Butters. It's just so fun to call you wifey, or my wife, or "Hey you, gemme a sammich." You know I love you, though, so it's all good, right?" He smirks, and laughs loudly as Butters aims a kick at his shins. "Sorry, sorry; won't call you my wife again for the next twenty-four hours."

"Hey, queers," Stan calls, interrupting Craig, Tweek, Kenny, and Butters, "now that we're all done here, can we go to the movies or something? 'Cause in case you haven't noticed, it's fucking hot. I'm sweating all over, and it's pretty sick... I mean, just look at what happens when I do this!" He lunges at Kyle, and drapes his body over the redhead's shoulders.

"Oh, ew, get the hell offa me you sick-- Ugh, God, there's sweat all over me now! Christ, man, it's like all damp and hot and... Stan, that's just wrong! I mean, I love you and all, but get off of me!" Kyle shoves Stan away with a bit more force than necessary, causing the shirtless boy to stumble off the curb and onto the road.

"Nice, Stan. You know, if that had happened to me, I'd probably have gotten hit by a sixteen-wheeler. Consider yourself lucky, bro." Kenny chugs his drink as he contemplates where to go, and all too soon, the can is empty. "Damn it... Well, now that that's all gone, I should make a decision. Who wants to go to the movies?"

"That sounds nice and cool," Craig offers. "And _dark_, and _private_," he adds, tightening his grip on Tweek's waist as he pulls him closer. All the blond can do is nod in agreement as he blushes, the bottle in his hands already completely drained. Craig leans down to whisper sweet nothings in Tweek's ear, and Butters wonders if they're so much sweet as they are lewd, because Tweek's face is redder than a tomato, and he can't seem to keep his eyes on one spot.

Kyle rolls his eyes, still irritatedly brushing on the damp parts of his shirt that Stan left. "If they wanna go, then I'll go. What else is there to do today, anyway? It's either sit at home and be bored, or sit outside and burn to death, and I personally find both fates pretty damn undesirable." He pauses, then adds, "Well, we _could_ go to the mall."

"Dude, you're so addicted to shopping that it scares me," Kenny says, shaking his head at the Jew. "The only person who shops as much as you in this town is Bebe Stevens, but she's a _girl_."

"So?"

"So, that makes it okay for her to become a freakin' psychopath when she enters a store. You, on the other hand, are a _guy_. Whenever I see you going crazy over a pair of pants, I just think to myself, "Way to cater to the male homosexual stereotype, Kyle!""

"Dude, stop dissing him Kenny, you're making my chances at sex tonight go lower and lower with each word," Stan complains, his glance darting between Kyle and Kenny. "It's not his fault he has some sort of terrible, freakish addiction to clothing!"

"Oh, and you think _that's _gonna make your chances better?" Kyle glares at his boyfriend, arms crossed. "No sex for a week. Seriously." ("_Just like a girl_," Kenny snorts.)

"Aw, aw! C'mon! That's so unfair, man..." Stan moves away from his friends to go sulk in the shade behind the convenience store.

Kyle turns away and walks to the curb, glaring fiercely at the open road, arms crossed.

Craig has meanwhile pulled Tweek away during this whole conversation, and the two are pressed up against the brick wall of the store, the brunet shamelessly fondling his squirming blond.

Kenny lights a cigarette, puts it in his mouth, and wraps an arm around Butters, who sighs and takes a bite of his ice cream sandwich. "Typical summer afternoon, huh?"

"M-hm." Butters snuggles into Kenny's hold, and smiles contently. "It's nice."

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Author's Notes: Interestingly, "brunet" and "blond" are the masculine forms of the words, while "brunette" and "blonde" are the feminine forms... A lot of people don't know this.

By the way, the pairings featured are probably my three favorites in the South Park fandom. I also like TokenClyde, EricWendy, ChristopheGregory, and DamienPip... heh.

If you feel like it, then please review this, assuming you have the time.


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